Ice Ice Baby
by jaka ray
Summary: SH22 - Holmes and Beth Lestrade are tracking Moriarty through Alaska, unable to avoid the author's HL of course. Updated 11-20-04
1. Snow Cones and Construction Cones

[Author's note: The title comes from that song that can get stuck in your head so easily: "Ice Ice Baby" by Vanilla Ice. Dude, we're in Alaska, you know?! NPI stands for "no pun intended". I seem to be running into a lot of those. Must be my subconscious wittiness. :D  
  
monty: oh f*** off  
  
*And the next scene shows j.r. angrily washing monty's mouth out with soap* Which reminds me, I stole that from another LOTR spoof site:  
  
Enjoy! (Both the site and the FICCY! And don't forget to review! *monty lets at a weak growl*]  
  
Sherlock Holmes [yea I know. I can't seem to help it sometimes, I swear!] took his snow cone from Beth Lestrade with disgust and reluctance. Ice, ice, and ice: everything in Alaska was ice. He was surprised his magnifying glass hadn't frozen over as well.  
  
With their ice in hand, Holmes and Lestrade continued on down the street as Lestrade yawned for the thousandth time that day. And it was on purpose, too. So far they had found dead ends at the end [NPI] of all their leads: the craft rental clerk had refused to let out "confidential information on customers no matter what kind of criminal they were. He refused to be bribed or moved by threats. And, to top it all off like a cherry on an ICE cream sundae, the little blister had had them kicked out after they tried to distract him and steal the logbook. Next, the two New Londoners had tried to spark up a conversation with nearby electrical workers [who were trying to reinstate electricity to jaka ray's power sources... *cough cough* nightmare], in case they had seen Moriarty or Fenwick claiming their rental vehicle. But a spark of speech was useless in the cold, wintry personalities of the Alaskans. So, Lestrade bought Holmes and herself some snow cones to "cheer themselves up". However, Holmes soon discovered what a "cheering up" meant in the eyes of Beth Lestrade.  
  
No matter how cold or wintry the workers really were, a snow cone down one's trousers in NOT a good feeling. And instead of cheering up, the Inspector was a grouch as she followed Holmes. Finally, after another yawn, she questioned her colleague. "So where to next, smart one?"  
  
That did it. It was the last straw. Holmes lost his patience but remained calm. Ignoring her questions and calling a cab, he held the door open for her. With a shrug Lestrade stepped in. "Where to?" the cabby asked. Lestrade suppressed another yawn again and leaned her head against the window, swimming in boredom. But suddenly she straightened up, noticing how her companion had not joined her in the craft.  
  
Opening her mouth to say something, Lestrade's voice was cut off as Holmes slammed the door shut, handing the driver some credits as hastily as he could, and told it to "drive anywhere just not here!" With that, the robotic vehicle shot off.  
  
"ZED!" Lestrade screamed. No amount of Lestrade-uttered threats would budge the robot, programmed to do its job. "Dumb robots! Piece of zedding junk." Sitting back in her seat with a huff, her mood was no less brightened by the lack of scenery outside her window. And she thought New London was bad.  
  
The robot, sensing a heightened amount of stress in its backseat, suggested a massage parlor to calm its client's nerves. Lestrade shrugged, not objecting to the idea at all in her mind. She needed something to relax her, and at least it didn't have anything to do with ice.  
  
*************  
  
"Now, with the female removed, you should be able to concentrate." Sherlock said aloud to himself as he watched the hovercraft become a dot in the distance.  
  
Turning to go, however, his sharp senses were suddenly alerted to a dark vehicle, which took off after the hover cab. Watching it closely in the corner of his eye, Holmes became sure that the driver was hunched over and really was tailing Lestrade. And what about himself? Was he being tailed too? Holmes quickened his pace and rounded a few corners, making sure to stop briefly at window shops, as if some trinket had caught his attention. But he used the glass to see behind him, a trick he picked up from years of detecting in London. Sure enough, he saw a man three blocks behind him who had also stopped and seemed to be watching Holmes intently.  
  
The Englishman straightened up again, continuing on down the street, finally turning into a deserted alley. Just as he turned he spun around again, and, like he expected, ran head first into his tail. What happened next involved some hurling and twirling and demands and screams of "Uncle! Uncle!" [If you have an older sibling you'll know what this means. ;)] Just kidding. Well, it all ended with Holmes huffing and puffing and a man he identified as one of the workers from across the street lying unconscious on the sidewalk.  
  
"My Gosh, it was only a snow cone." Sherlock muttered to himself as police druids entered the scene. Recognizing the great detective, however, they immediately let him go on his way, much to his relief.  
  
"And there's one after Lestrade too! I'd better. Aw bloody hell I don't even know where's she's gone." Scratching his blond hair and noticing randomly that he hadn't shaved in a while [Yea. Keep that rugged manliness, Holmes.], he remembered the cab number and was soon able to convince a robot, by means of unplugging and rewiring, to locate hover cab #6039 and follow it. And he made sure nobody was tailing him this time.  
  
[Author's note: Don't get the "Uncle" thing? Well if you've ever been an older sibling or had one, (or read "Foxtrot"), the stereotypical bullying involved demands of saying "Uncle" as a sort of "I Surrender!" Like asking some little kid, "who's your daddy?!" or something like that. Can't relate to it? Sorry then.] 


	2. Massage Parlour the MerriamWebster Way

[Author's note: Hmm... guess FF.NET doesn't show html links. That LOTR spoof site is pretty cute though! ^_^  
  
Maybe I should take another chip of mysha's block and start a mailing list. Let me know if you think that's cool.  
  
Thank you for reviewing!!!!!! He he:  
  
NOOKA: man. a consistent reviewer. Yay! *Pat on head* Sigh. younger siblings... Can't live with 'em, can't live without . hmmm. *kick grass*  
  
MYSHA: another *see above*! *Poke, poke* *bug, bug* (hey! My own version of "nudge, nudge" *gasp* I get to see Eric Idle's "Greedy Bastard Tour"! *Dance*)  
  
CASEY: Eh heh. No! I didn't mean to stereotypi-cide (dumb word) those Alaskans! *Back away slowly* Hehe. Hope you like the cheery Alaskans in this chapter! Again, please don't be offended by my ... Idiotic-ness. Shit. And I forgot about their wacky time thing too. Pwahahaha Just wait and see how MY Alaska, in the 22nd century, is like. Hey, they messed with the moon; they can mess with the sun too! *Raspberry* You know I'm just kidding!!  
  
*********************  
  
Disclaimer: I'm not stereotyping anybody (Yes, that is a word I made up.), and let it be known to ppl everywhere, there are all types of people in all types of places. So there.  
  
And now, on with the motley! (And I don't even start this ficcy with Holmes' name, either! Aren't you proud?)]  
  
*********************  
  
Lestrade wrinkled her nose as she entered the massage parlor. It smelled good. too good; like air freshener spilled on a rug. And all the people she passed were cheery and had white gloves on. Her hand tightened on her ionizer when suddenly someone tapped her on the back. Whirling around, gun ready, Lestrade came face to face with the cheeriest one of them all, who, of course, became a little less cheery when he looked down the fully charged barrel of a police ionizer.  
  
"Oh dear me!" He cried with a hiccup. "I'm afraid we'll have to confiscate that gun of yours, ma'am!" Lestrade glared at him, and he cowered under her look, muttering that they'd give it back to her after she was done with her relaxing day. Squinting her eyes suspiciously, Lestrade handed over her gun slowly, and when she did, stomped angrily to the nearby locker room to change into the skimpy robe the man had exchanged her firearm for. At the sight of her back, the bald headed man released a sigh of relief.  
  
*********************  
  
Arriving at a convenience booth on the corner of a street, Holmes quickly punched in the number of the cab he had shoved his partner into. ("Partner"? You know you didn't mean that.) It was getting dark already, but the Alaskan's manmade solar beams were beginning to light up the place, so that it seemed like day still. They brought a little warmth back into the detective's hands as well, and he waited impatiently for the driver of the cab to answer the call he made. He was answered by a robotic voice that informed him of the location of the cab's last stop. It was a massage parlor not far from where Holmes stood, so he copied down the location and went on his way; smiling to every person he passed.  
  
He took a deep breath before entering the parlor, walked up to the young lady at the counter, put on his most charming smile (hell yea.), and asked in a voice to match, "Excuse me, but could you tell me if a pretty young lady like yourself, about your height, your hair color, and wearing a Yardie uniform, just came in?"  
  
Holmes had to keep himself from barfing when the young lady, obviously bored after a day of answering phone calls, gave him a coquettish smile. "Well now, I guess I could change for you if you'd like!" She checked the clock and turned back to him, "And I'll be on my break soon too." The girl winked at him, curling her hair with a manicured finger.  
  
Holmes backed away as quickly as he could, remembering to bow his head so as to remain polite. Sitting himself down on the chair, Holmes resisted the urge to go back to the girl. She had been kind of pretty, but he had to stay.  
  
He stopped himself. Stay loyal to what? Did he have to remain to his bachelorhood? He wasn't gay, and he didn't have a girlfriend, and he had heard someone say he was quite a turn on to young girls. And besides, Lestrade liked him didn't she? Perhaps it was high time he rethought his ideals of love. It was the twenty second century anyway.  
  
Holmes stood up and was just about to head back to the counter and try out his skills of baiting women (hoo boy) when something caught his eye. Well, it's not hard to see a beat up construction worker with a black eye, but what interested Holmes more was the slimmer, sleazier one next to him. The sleazy one had dark sleazy hair and a pair of dark sleazy eyes. He was the very picture of crime!  
  
Holmes had never seen him before in his life.  
  
They made sure nobody was looking, and then slipped into the girl's side of the parlor. Nobody in the room noticed, and since no screams issued from inside, nobody outside the room noticed either. Unless they didn't have time to notice.  
  
Concentrating his thoughts and trying (not very hardly, you can imagine) to ignore the coughs coming from the front desk, skillfully maneuvered toward his direction, Holmes began to get suspicious. The sleazy one HAD been carrying a small can of something under his jacket. And he HAD had an eerily famliar stagger in his step.  
  
Sherlock changed courses. Even if Lestrade wasn't here, he needed to make sure no harm would come to the ladies. Just in case. Following the sleazy ones' example, Holmes made sure nobody was watching before, covering his eyes with a wary hand, Holmes entered the dressing room labeled in big red letters, "LADIES".  
  
*********************  
  
"Ah. This is the life." Lestrade lay on the soft mat, careful not to fall asleep. It was definitely the most relaxing day ever. And her masseuse hadn't even come yet. Grinning to herself (thinking about Greyson in his little office yelling his gray hair out made her laugh) as she removed her robe and wrapped a towel around her waist, Lestrade again set herself down on the mat, noticing delightfully how she'd rather be there relaxing then be with Holmes any day. Well, maybe not. Lestrade slapped herself. What was she thinking?  
  
Before she had time to weigh one oppurtunity against the other, she heard the door to her little white room open. Soft steps approached her table, but when she felt the hands touch her skin, they were sticky and cold and ungraceful.  
  
"Here's where the good day ends." Her thoughts chided. Luckily the masseuse wasn't a mindreader, since he went on prodding with his icky fingers. And to top it all off, the man was singing completely off key, and obviously had the flu. Lestrade groaned to herself and smacked her forehead onto the head support, arms limp off the table. At least she didn't have to pay for it all. She had almost charged it to Holmes' card. But then she realized she didn't want to be mean (she'd have to see his angry face for god knows how long. at least until the end of their trip.) and charged it to Greyson instead. The good thing about that was that the man was a billion miles away and wouldn't be able to reach her for at least a day.  
  
Beth thanked the gods above when the masseuse finally stopped and stepped out. Not before, however, informing her in a singsong voice that'd he be back in a bit. "Zed." She groaned. "Why don't I just smack him and get it over with?" Deciding to do so just as the door opened again, Lestrade placed her head back into the head supporter, which was merely a hole through the matted table for her head to fit into. From there she could see the man enter again. Bracing herself for the touch of ice to her skin, Lestrade was surprised to find a new pair of hands had taken over. Phew! What a relief.  
  
What a difference there was between the first man and this new substitute! The fingers danced lightly but firmly over her bare skin. They seemed to be everywhere at the same time: first her neck, then her shoulders, and now near her waists. Beth Lestrade let out an unrestrained sigh of comfort. Who knew she could feel so relaxed by just laying down and pushing a few muscles?  
  
"I'll bet the girl next door isn't having this much fun." She thought to herself, glancing over to her right. She could see the translucent wall, and a slight color change or movement told her what was going on. Chuckling merrily to herself, she relaxed again and gave in to the skillful fingers of her captor.  
  
Since she had nothing better to do, she imagined the body and the face that came along with the long skillful hands. He must be tall, since his fingers were so long. He had to be graceful, but not feminine. He had to be an intelligent man, but not a dork. Oh yea, and he had to have a big, hard, long-  
  
Her wandering thoughts were interrupted by the masseuse himself. Soft lips inches away from her ear, he whispered softly, "Inspector, I think you've had enough of this, don't you agree?"  
  
*********************  
  
[Sheesh! How do you people get your chapters to be so long? It makes me feel guilty.]  
  
Lestrade almost sat up straight, but remembered her state of cloth and stayed down. She knew that voice only too well.  
  
Turning her head slowly toward the voice, Lestrade nearly sat up again when she saw the face of Sherlock Holmes. And he looked very pleased with himself, too.  
  
"HOLMES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"  
  
The smile widened. "Yes, Inspector?" A chortle escaped his throat (which Lestrade wanted to throttle), and he stretched his arms and fingers showingly. Laughing again, he removed his long masseuse coat and offered it to Lestrade. "You look cold, Inspector. And I have a funny feeling that this would be very useful to you." His blue eyes scanned her up and down as best as the eyes of a Victorian gentleman would allow. After he was sure that she would not make the sculptures of the Italian Renaissance look like nuns, he offered his arm to her politely. Lestrade just glared and asked harshly, "Why are you here again?"  
  
Withdrawing his arm with a shrug, Sherlock answered matter-of-factly, "Relaxing you I suppose."  
  
Lestrade crossed her arms crossly and tapped her foot. But then she stopped when she felt the towel get loose. Sherlock noticed to her embarassment, and (handed her his pants) led the way to the locker where she kept her clothes as he told her of his suspicions that Fenwick, the French henchman of his archenemy James Moriarty, was in the building. They reached the locker and Lestrade took out her stuff, motioning for Holmes to turn the other way as she dressed. Looking around (at all the other women in the locker room.) [A/N: no! the locker room was empty! Miraculously!] everywhere except there, Sherlock whistled nonchalantly, as if Lestrade was merely examining some evidence he had already seen.  
  
When she finally cleared her throat to let him know she was decent, he turned back round and held the door open for her. They walked down the white halls in silence, their footsteps echoing sharply back at them. But then came to their ears, another set of footsteps. Running footsteps.  
  
"STOP, THEIF!"  
  
[A/N: Merriam Webster's entry: Main Entry: massage parlor  
  
Function: noun  
  
Date: 1913: an establishment that provides massage treatments; also: one offering sexual services in addition to or in lieu of massage No kidding, huh?  
  
Sneak preview for next chapter (as it is very likely it will not come soon): Yardie uniforms, although made of Spandex, are not very warm and do not withstand icy cold waters very well. Enjoy the cliffy and leave a long, interesting, and tip-giving review.] 


	3. Inconveniences

[Author's note: *j.r. creeps on slowly, monty (temporarily referred to as dom since monty is, actually, a shadow demon. He will be putting that skill into effect, as up until recently he has been a . je ne sais quoi.) has a list of notes*  
  
*j.r. reads them in disgust, finally handing them back* dom: well, let's hear YOUR excuse for not updating! Humph.  
  
*j.r.: eh heh heh. -_-;; I GOT MY OWN MONTY PYTHON SET! YAY! (dom: no excuse for your procrastinating, they'll say)  
  
UHHHH. I like Michael Palin the best? (dom: still no excuse, they'll say)  
  
MMMM. I'm also obsessively obsessed with Dom? (dom: hehe- AHEM! still no excuse, they'll say. *pauses* and they'll tell you to learn proper English too.)  
  
WELLLL.. Tengo mucho tarea esta semana! (dom: @_@) *j.r. turns to audience in a Roger-Days'-got-a-hedgehog-called-Frank manner (monty python.. sorry.. hehe)* Also, I've become obsessed with rings. Dom: Go figure, eh? Auk-hem. Anyway. Angelina809 and I were talking, and we both expressed unrestrained hatred for the Mary Russell "books" by Laurie King. So she's writing a ficcy about Mary vs. Lestrade, and it's got much Mary bashing, so beware! And it was brainstorming that ficcy that I got back in the mood to type! Lucky you.]  
  
"Walk faster." Sherlock Holmes ordered. Lestrade obeyed, making sure to keep up with Holmes' long stride. His legs were too long for her, so she broke out into a light jog. However, Holmes took it the wrong way and started running too, which made her run faster, which made him run faster, et cetera, et cetera; he thought her running meant she knew what was going on and had classified it as an emergency.  
  
As they rounded the corner they almost collided head on with the sleazy pair Holmes had seen before. "You!" was all that Holmes could utter before the pair dashed off. Now the sleuth ran for the chase, although THEIR pursuers didn't know that. The Great Detective's highly trained skills in track pulled him ahead, and luckily Lestrade wasn't too far behind. Finally, getting annoyed by the hounds on her trail, Lestrade lagged back on another corner and knocked them unconscious with a well-aimed punch. Then she caught up with Holmes, bent over, his lips sealed, his brow knitted in annoyance. He suppressed a groan as Lestrade cocked her head at him questioningly. It seems he had lost the sleazy ones after they knocked over a large massage table.  
  
It had hit him in a very inconvenient place indeed.  
  
Beth approached him with caution. Ambling up alongside him, she murmured, "Any idea where they went?"  
  
Holmes looked at her impatiently and shushed her. Half hurt, half curious, Lestrade looked around slowly: the only thing in sight was the outside world of Alaska, still bright and merry with insulated lights. Children ran around with skates in their hands, all wrapped up for another day in their Iceland paradise. Breaking his own concentration as well as hers, the detective inquired where their pursuers had gone. Her smile was all he needed for an answer, and he groaned to himself again. Another problem to explain to the local police! Just forget it, he thought to himself; this is one puddle of quagmire that the Inspector will have to get herself out of!  
  
Straightening up slowly with a grunt, Holmes limped over to the door, his hand still applying pressure to the sensitive spot, and took in the scene with his sharp pale eyes. Lestrade, mind completely blank, looked over to Holmes with a weak smile and a plead for help. Rolling his eyes at her most stupid move of the day, the detective proceeded to follow the only pair of footprints that led from the back door of the parlor. As soon as he was out of range, Lestrade kicked herself.  
  
Ignoring the cheerful laughter of Alaskan children, Holmes kept following the footprints; even past places where countless little feet had trodden the snow to mush, Holmes the bloodhound would pick up the scent again in no time. Lestrade tagged along behind him with an air of someone who's gone through the same routine too many times. They finally found themselves at the ice rink, where thick slabs of scratched marble surrounded a glittering field of translucent starlight.  
  
It would be impossible to find the villains in this lot.  
  
Holmes concentrated hard as he threaded his way through the crowd. Lestrade was right behind him, hand ready at her ionizer. She hoped they could just find the bastards soon so that she could return to the hotel for a nice warm bath!  
  
*********************  
  
"Are you sure this is going to work?" Melanie Dawson asked skeptically. Fenwick shushed her with a deformed glare. "Of course it will! My son is never wrong. And we have followed his plan to the letter!" He removed the delicate fire crystals from his pocket, where they had nestled as he escaped the nosy detectives. They had given his entire body a blanket of warmth, and Fenwick was reluctant to remove them from his person. But he had to. Besides, Dawson was watching him closely, eyebrows arched suspiciously. Suddenly she straightened up, neck craned high at somebody in the crowd. Ducking down again, she hissed with annoyance, "Those zedding Yardies are still on our trail." She knitted her face in concentration, and the creases smoothed out into a sly smile as she calculated a plan in her mind.  
  
"Give me those crystals." She ordered. Fenwick, ever trusting, handed them over as instructed, and the woman crept silently to the edge of the ice rink and pressed the warm crystals into the ice. Finding so little heat in the immediate area, the crystals spread energy through the whole cold area of ice.  
  
Now, those crystals were supposed to be kept in a special compartment in whichever building they were sold to. Included were an explicit set of instructions that stressed the importance of keeping the crystals in their rightful place. That way, the building would always be warm, and also, no harm would come to the heatless world of Alaska. The crystals were manufactured to spread heat as far as it could. The buildings it lay in were coated with a special type of metal so as to keep the heat in and prevent the outside snow from melting. But once outside the crystals could cause extensive damage. Which was why they were so expensive and so hard to get: much paperwork was needed, and the consequence of bringing one of these crystals outside levied a heavy fine that only the richest officials could pay.  
  
So when Melanie Dawson brushed the ice rink with the heat crystals, the ice immediately began to melt, and crack as if a large stone had been hammered into it. She stood and stretched nonchalantly as the first skaters began to notice something was terribly wrong. As screams echoed through the air, she turned to Fenwick with a smile and yawned, "Well, that should keep them busy."  
  
*********************  
  
Holmes was having no success finding the two culprits. And that confused him. Their descriptions were so noticeable, so grotesque and unparalleled in all his years as a detective, he would've thought that even a corner of their person would be easier to spot than the grey hairs on Grayson's head. But he was obviously mistaken. Lestrade, seeing him at a dead end for once, decided to employ a classic trick she had been taught at the Academy many years back.  
  
"'When you find yourself facing a dead end,'" she recited out loud, "'review what you know with a friend.'" (Dom: really dumb rhyme, I know, but hey!) Holmes, ashamed to be using Yardie tricks, ignored his partner, but lent her an ear as she proceeded to look back on the day's events.  
  
"Ok, so tell me if you see something in this that I don't: we are at a massage parlor, mistaken for thieves, see the real thieves, chase after them, and lose them in the crowd. Now appearance wise, -" But Lestrade was interrupted by her partner's spastic gasp.  
  
"What the devil!" He exclaimed as a loud crack rang through their ears. Lestrade screamed involuntarily. As he rushed to save the skaters on the rink, two familiar people caught Holmes' eye. Turning around to get a better look, Holmes choked in surprise at the back of Fenwick and Melanie Dawson. But it was no time for regret. He had to help Lestrade move the Alaskans to safety.  
  
"GET OFF THE ICE!!!!" The New Londoners shouted frantically. They rushed onto the rink to rush the little ones off, and to help those in need while trying to avoid the now super-thin ice. Holmes was in the middle of the whole mess when the biggest crack yet reached his ears, and he heard a cry of surprise cut short by a splash.  
  
"LESTRADE!"  
  
[*Groggy j.r. steps out* Just finished this fic and it's 3AM in the morning. But I promised you guys I'd finish it by tomorrow, even if it meant missing RotK. Luckily I didn't procrastinate THAT much. And lucky for you me fellow LOTR obsessive kept me up all night w/ her fantasies. ( Dom: pwahaha. A cliffy for your thoughts? : D Anyhow, me and me friend are loony about Dom and Billy, so you'll be sure to see more of them soon, esp. since they'll be appearing on a mardi gras float soon. And in real life as well! : D Read and review!!!!] 


	4. The Gang's All Here

[Author's note: thanks for your reviews! Don't forget to check out Angelina809's Mary bashing fic! ;) Dunno if she's updated yet, but some PEOPLE (dom: mysha's human? Whoa... @_@ hehe) have been updating faster than I can... I can... think up new smileys! ;)  
  
Ho-kay (he he... albinoblacksheep.com!): some new smileys created by yours truly... should've spent my time in a better way, but I can't help it! *tee hee* ~_~ ( *roll eyes* smiley... gonna use this one a lot... ;) -_- x ( uh... *censored hand on mtv* smiley! And in stereo! x -_- x *double deuce*  
  
Woo! Watched ROTK again! Everybody go watch it (again) to bring it back up to first place in the box office! Then and only then will I update! Pwahaha! Dom: nice excuse...  
  
J.R.: yea I know; I thought of it myself! PS: Maureen! Thanks for being a nitpicker. Lucky you told me too! So thanks. ;)]  
  
Beth Lestrade was helping her fellow New Londoner clear off the quickly melting ice when she felt the ground beneath her give way. Before she could call out to Holmes, gravity had pulled her under into the freezing abyss. Her mouth, open in an attempt to get help, was suddenly flooded with numbing water. Her surroundings had not soaked in the heat that had melted the ice, which was now high above her head; she was sinking fast. The cold convulsed her body and her gasps for breath were met with nothing but water. I'm drowning, she realized, as tears seemed to freeze on the edges of her eyes. Nothing went black like the movies. Nothing flashed before her eyes like the stories. The only thing she could see was the shrinking patch of growing light she had fallen through.  
  
As her mind slowed and her senses dulled, she felt (if you can still feel after being cold for so long...) a floating sensation as someone grabbed her forearm and pulled her up. Then, everything was right again. She was still without an ounce of heat in her body, but she soon had a set of lean arms wrapped around her, and her senseless body was pressed against a well- defined one. Lestrade's lips felt cold and frostbitten before getting pressed against by another pair of soft, warm lips. They smelled a bit fishy. Oxygen filled her lungs again as somebody administered CPR to her.  
  
Blue eyes bursting open to a sunlit room, the first thing Beth saw was Sherlock Holmes, fast asleep beside her.  
  
In a chair, that is.  
  
Gotcha.  
  
Anyway, she sat up and Holmes awoke instantly, giving her a concerned look and immediately asked how she felt, feeling her forehead with his cool hand.  
  
Lestrade pushed his hand away and growled, "I'm fine." She hated to be somebody else's charge. Holmes, knowing this with a smirk, let her get out of bed for a walk, explaining what had happened as Lestrade tested her own reflexes.  
  
"After I was alerted of your... situation by a cracking noise from the ice, I went after you, of course, and then it was simple to find someone who knew how to do CPR." Lestrade, on hearing the last statement, spun around with a screech. "You mean it wasn't- so YOU didn't give me mouth-to-m- what?!"  
  
Holmes shrugged. "I'll admit that's one angle of knowledge I do not possess. In fact, it was your masseur from earlier who did it." Lestrade gritted her teeth and muttered incoherent threats under her breath. Holmes, realizing he had made a mistake, chuckled and slipped his arm around her waist serenely. Faster than the blink of an eye, Lestrade whirled around and gave him a knee in the... in the. Yea that's right. It was a reflexive defense move. No wonder she never dated.  
  
Holmes: @_@ I don't think I like Alaska very much... Pain...  
  
Lestrade gasped as she realized what she just did. "Oh my God! Holmes I'm so sor- it was my-" She trailed off under her breath, "My mom taught me that... x_o" Bending down to try and help, she was scooped up in a tackle as Holmes (recovered quickly, I see... must have a protective- uh... let's not go into that now, ok?) exercised his revenge and tickled her until she couldn't breathe. Giggling madly and squirming helplessly, both of them crashed into the futon in the middle of the room, flipping head over heels over the couch and onto the floor with a loud THUD. Beth had barely regained her senses when she found herself looking into Holmes' eyes. Holmes' beautiful starlight eyes... A strand of blond, wet hair [dom: ice, ice baby] fell across his forehead and she brushed it away.  
  
[j.r.: How many of us would love to be in THAT position? *raises hand* dom: ~_~]  
  
The annoyingly monotone ring of a dial tone followed a click from the other line, and Fenwick slammed the phone receiver down in frustration. Melanie Dawson, filing her nails calmly, glanced at her companion, and raised one eyebrow smoothly. Between you and me, she practiced in the mirror that morning. She knew she was going to need it. Fenwick lit a cigarette up and took a long drag to calm his nerves.  
  
"I thought those were illegal."  
  
As he blew the smoke out in a long hack, the greasy old Frenchman hissed, "Everything's illegal in this zedding world." The eyebrow went up again. Changing the subject, the woman went back to her nails and asked whether or not their boss had any more plans for them.  
  
"He seems to be occupied elsewhere," Fenwick, after shivering, took out the fiery crystals, which had practically warmed up the whole shack, and as a result had stopped its heat-spread. Their current job was warming up the water Fenwick intended to bathe his sore feet in.  
  
Dawson, ignoring the smell as he removed his socks, went on prodding, "Well did you tell him about the Yardie? Surely we'll be rewarded even a little for that!" Her hopes of a quick escape were dissipated by the snort from his nostrils. With an exasperated grunt, she reached for the burning cig on the table. Fenwick grinned, as was about to start teasing her hypocrisy when she tossed it calmly into his footbath, where it sizzled out with a hiss. Then she stomped out of the room, leaving him to grumble of the fickleness of women.  
  
********************************* Lestrade herself was grumbling as well, although over quite a different subject. The most difficult decision she faced that day was whether to finish the bag of fat free cookies Holmes had left her or call up room service. If the latter, Grayson would get the bill, and if the former, she'd have to resort to the latter sooner or... later. With a loud burp she paced the hotel room impatiently. Holmes had refused to let her leave the room, saying she "needed rest". Of course, after she had tried to crawl out the window, he had assigned her a guard.  
  
No sooner had she clicked down the receiver daintily did the door open with a bang. "Boy, room service sure got here quickly." Lestrade muttered to herself before realizing the figure in the room with her was a strange, aged man, whose nose had obviously once been quite hooked but was now drooping so much over his light moustache that he had to hold it upwards in an attempt to keep his pride. Stopping herself from using anymore of her reflexive defense moves, Beth actually tried her partner's repeated methods.  
  
Observing that the stranger was not at all afraid of her clenched fists, Lestrade immediately deduced that the man was actually Holmes, in one of his elaborate disguises. So be it. She could handle his joking. She wasn't THAT stupid.  
  
Plopping down onto the bed seductively she teased in a silky voice, "Well... I didn't know you'd be back so soon! If I had, I'm sure I wouldn't have been caught dressed like this... Or at all." Lestrade laughed at Holmes' evident confusion and perplexed features, and went on, enjoying herself way too much to notice the other figure in the shadows. "What've you been doing? I missed you!" She then discovered a vengeful path to repay him for all the little pranks he had played on her at the Yard, including the Whoopee Cushion and the incident with Mr. Bubbles and the cable guy's crab.  
  
Adopting a lecherous gaze, she jumped up, shoved the silver tray out of his arms, threw herself at him, and demanded a kiss. Just as she was about to stop her act, the blood drained from her face as another figure cleared his throat and spoke in a cracking, nervous voice.  
  
"My, Lestrade, I'm awful glad you ordered room service...and, err... I hope you got some for our guests as well?"  
  
Leaping ten feet in the air with a cry, Beth landed on her ass and looked up to see Holmes, behind the now thoroughly frightened room service attendant, who was busy trying to pick up her dinner from the floor where it had been knocked. As if her throat wasn't choked enough, a slight cough from BEHIND Holmes brought her attention to old friends Watson, the Irregulars, and Erika Noir, who she would be immensely glad to see had she not also witnessed the whole thing with Holmes.  
  
[A/N: Eh heh heh... Don't ask about the Mr. Bubbles thing... Hey, Conan Doyle can do it, so can I... *mutters to self: politician and the lighthouse... humph*  
  
Also, recommended are Fefe Dobson's self-named CD, and an old Masterpiece Theatre work called "Monsignor Renard". Not only is Dom *nudge* in it, but it's very touching and not at all boring. Well, confusing maybe. But did I mention Dom was in it? ;) I got it from my local library, but I'm not sure if you'll be able to find it. It's worth it, though. :)] 


	5. Mysterious Dulcia Daae, alias

[A/N: Oh my gosh I'm so sorry this took so long I honestly didn't know it was done! I thought it was an empty document! @_@ wow this is old::: Is it "GREYSON" or "Grayson"? LOL I get a high whenever I type Leroux's first name... *hint: Etienne from "Monsignor Renard"* That reminds me: Thanks to Myshawolf for all the help she's given me on this chapter, and for letting me borrow her characters. She owns them, and if you steal them you suffer the fate of Erik teddy. Speaking of which, review Mysha's FICCYS or else the teddy gets it! So what are you waiting for?! GO, GO, GO! NO WAIT! REVIEW MINE FIRST! WAIT, WAIT, WAIT! @_@  
  
Also, don't forget Angelina809... Because it's her bear... He, he Oyez! IM me sometime! If you couldn't tell already, we have a blast.]  
  
Sherlock Holmes had to introduce Erika Noir, his old friend, to the others under a false name, as it would cause a bit of a commotion if they were to know her real background as the Phantom of the Opera and also as the intérêt d'amour of their nemesis James Moriarty. What a conversation starter that would be!  
  
Sipping some hot tea to quench his thirst, he addressed the guests perched around his hotel room. Holmes cleared his throat to prevent himself from bursting into laughter, and then spoke in a clear voice.  
  
"Ahem, I do believe we are allowed to proceed, as Inspector Lestrade will not be joining us anytime soon, having locked herself in the bathroom..."  
  
Watson, the Victorian gentleman that he was trying to be, inquired politely, "You don't think she should be taken out by force, do you Holmes? Perhaps she... Well, after the... EPISODE I do think she may be trying to... That is to say..."  
  
Holmes laughed heartily. "No, Watson, she is not in so much remorse that she would want to do away with herself. But in any case Miss Daae is trying to coax the bunny out of its hole, and I think her judgment is wise enough, should the situation be taken out of our hands... To continue, I was going to ask why you all came halfway around the world to find us?"  
  
Deidre, who was red in the face from laughing, as she for one was not afraid to laugh at the embarrassment of the Inspector, answered between chortles, "Well we were afraid maybe you weren't getting as much done as possible. Also, Miss... Daae, who Tenny did a background check on like you always make us do, tells us she is an officer from Paris who is after Moriarty as well..." Holmes glanced at Erika, who just winked at him. He grinned to himself. She certainly was after Moriarty as well, although for different reasons than what the kids were told; she was a special friend of theirs (esp. Moriarty...), and was ticked off that he had committed a crime under her nose.  
  
Holmes nodded; it was a good thing Etienne Leroux, the top officer of the Surete, or the police force of France, always had a backup identity for Erika. In her line of work it was necessary, and almost everyone in France was willing to help her. Almost everyone.  
  
Next he exchanged a mental message with Watson, his old comrade, who answered mentally that Greyson HAD NOT received the bill for Lestrade's... "Day off" and was NOT going to come storming in like an enraged bull sea lion. Settling back into his chair in relief, the detective went on, "Anyway, I am glad to reveal that my excursion before I was fortunate to run into you lot was very rewarding indeed..."  
  
Erika, hearing that Holmes was about to give one of his talks again, knocked on the bathroom door again and whispered, knowing Lestrade's ear was probably pressed against the other side in an attempt to a) listen to see if Erika was gone and b) to see if she could catch a few things Holmes was saying from her spot inside the bathroom.  
  
"Beth! I promise I'll get Deidre to stop giggling if you come out! Holmes is about to talk and..." She grinned. "I think he's pausing to see if you will be a dear and come out to listen properly."  
  
As expected she heard a clattering of makeup and after a few seconds out came Inspector Lestrade ready to inspect... Sherlock Holmes, I believe. Deidre was about to let out an intentional snort when Erika shot her a dirty look. The teenager shut up immediately; there was something about this woman that she just didn't want to mess with.  
  
Being careful to use her hand as a shield for the side of her face turned towards the rest of the audience, Lestrade sat down on the floor before Holmes' feet, as if waiting for him to tell a story. Well actually she was waiting for him to tell a story. But it wasn't that kind of a story.  
  
****************************************  
  
Erika Noir unpacked her light baggage into the chest of drawers in the room she had taken beside Holmes and Lestrade. The Irregulars had taken the room on the other side of Erika's room, and their squabbling could most likely be heard from Holmes' room. Erika smiled. She considered convincing Lestrade to move in with her so Watson and Holmes could room together, but wasn't too sure of that. Pros: Lestrade wouldn't be able to make TOO much of a fool of herself in front of Holmes. Erika was no unromantic fool. It was obvious Lestrade and Holmes had been busy doing other things besides investigating her friend Moriarty.  
  
Her smile became a frown as she moved on from the Cons to her position in the investigation. Yes, she wanted to find James and give him a good lecture for what he pulled off in London, but she also knew that it was no petty larceny. It was murder and if James was caught he might be brainwashed. Erika sighed and decided to save the worry for later; she could hear Lestrade knocking.  
  
Beth tiptoed in and plopped down into a chair. Erika, continuing with her packing, decided to let Beth start the conversation. Lestrade, noticing her tactics, groaned and gave in.  
  
"So should I?" They had known each other long enough to understand what the other meant without communicating verbally.  
  
When Erika simply shrugged dramatically with a smile, Lestrade pondered it for a moment, then nodded aloud, thanked her friend sarcastically and left the room in a whimsical mood. Erika grinned to herself and, making sure the Inspector had left, pressed a button on her vidphone, waiting patiently for it to connect. When it had, the face of her brother-like friend Nadir appeared.  
  
"And how is my little sister?" He joked, knowing bally well why she had called. Continuing on without missing a beat, he spoke in a slightly more serious tone of voice.  
  
"Well New Orleans isn't that bad, although I think I may be gaining some weight eating all this wonderful food. Danesh won't like that, I tell you." Nadir let out a small sigh at the thought of his boyfriend, who he had left behind in France when Erika commissioned him to search for HER boyfriend the hard way. At the moment he was sniffing around Louisiana, and had evidently found some traces of the master criminal, such as black wigs and hippie designer accessories. Just kidding.  
  
After she had finished her talk with him, Erika went to sleep, her dreams dark and disturbed, a sure foretelling of the distant future.  
  
****************************************  
  
[A/N: Please excuse the corny-ness; it's spring break.]  
  
As usual, the big people did not deign to take the little people along on their outing, so the Irregulars were forced to stay indoors. Not that they were complaining; it was a blizzard outside. Tennyson decided to break the boredom with a game of old-fashioned Charades. Since he thought of it he went first:  
  
*Beep* what do you *beep* want?  
  
Wiggins jumped up first. "It's Watson!"  
  
"Wiggins you zedding stink!"  
  
"Well he's a robot!"  
  
"Can't you tell the kid's doing an impression of himself?"  
  
*No actually it was inspector Lestrade in a bad mood!*  
  
BOOM, BOOM CHI!!!  
  
Wiggins: o. O Uh... Ok Tenny. Get this: *whiny high-pitched voice* Oh Mr. H, please take me along please, please, please!!!  
  
Deidre chose, whether consciously or not, to ignore the big picture, and muttered loudly, "Well THAT could be anybody; the ol' coot never takes anyone along. Except the Inspector, of course." She nudged the other two with a laugh.  
  
Wiggins was about to retort something witty when the door banged open and an Inverness-covered figure sloshed in, tracking in all sorts of mud, snow, and dirty water into the apartment. Deidre grinned and cooed, "'ello Mister 'olmes! Well isn't that a nice way to keep out of the – uh..." "Holmes" had suddenly thrown the Inverness back to reveal the Inspector herself, not in the least bit wet.  
  
She was then followed Holmes, who WAS soaking wet and did not look like he was at all in a happy mood. "Thank you, Holmes!" She said sweetly, tossing his jacket back to him with a teasing laugh. He snatched up the porous cloak and grumbled off to his room. Lestrade looked around and back at the Irregulars, commenting slyly that it looked like they hadn't made TOO much of a mess while they adults were gone.  
  
"No, Inspector, we left that to you..." Deidre replied tartly, raising an eyebrow at the slop that they would have to clean up later, it being their room.  
  
"Hope you and Mr. H didn't make TOO much of a mess in that car!" Wiggins backed Deidre up teasingly. Tennyson, eager to avoid a fight, asked innocently why it had taken so long to get the food. Before Deidre could open her mouth with a pervy answer, Lestrade dropped their meals on the table with a huff and stomped out of the room.  
  
Wiggins shrugged and dug in. The other two starving, growing children followed their leader's lead as Watson entered, his robotic parts sealed with water repellent, which it seemed he didn't bother to share with his other companions. Maybe because it was for metal only...  
  
**************************************** 


	6. A Game of Cat and Mouse

_Author's Note: AHHH!!! I haven't updated in so long! And I bet I've lost 3/4 of my readers, just like mysha said... :( well... here I am anyways. Its summer so I got to update at least once! I got this idea from watching Tom and Jerry (yea...) episode. I'm very sorry if the story's confusing. Especially if I've stayed away so long you need some memory refreshing... :(_

The gang all felt the regretful pangs of letting the criminals escape with the heating crystals, especially during the nighttime, when temperatures dropped dangerously and one couldn't survive with simply one blanket. Beth Lestrade could be found complaining loudly about the cold in the mornings, although she never blamed anyone for the loss of the crystals, as that would make her shiver even more, both from remembrance of her escapade and the method by which she was saved after it. Erika and Watson would sit by nodding their heads methodically, but Sherlock Holmes' eyes and his ears were nowhere to be found; he set out bright and early each morning to search for leads as to where the criminals had gone. The path had gone quite cold.

But all was not in vain, for at last, at long last, the detective appeared at the breakfast table one morning, a very rare occurrence indeed, and it aroused the curiosity of all, regardless of whether or not they chose to show it. Watson broke the ice with a straightforward question, as he was indeed programmed to do so...

"Holmes, my dear chap, would you like some butter with your toast?"

Erika and Lestrade both twitched, and even Holmes gave the robot a funny look. Watson, realizing the question all three wanted him to ask, stuttered, "Err, I mean, what brings you to the breakfast table so... err... early?"

His companions all smiled with relief, and the detective shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly and eased through his speech.

"Watson, my friend, I'm very glad you asked that, for I wasn't sure how to present this information before you." From the look of things, Sherlock Holmes had planned the presentation in his sleep, for he spoke with an emphasis here or a suspenseful pause there. "My trekking of the formidable Alaskan terrain has not proven fruitless, and while I'm sure my company has not been not missed, it certainly wasn't at all not worth your while." Holmes used the time his friends took to untangle his double negatives to withdraw a ... rubber duck?

"Whoops, wrong pocket." Returning it to one of the many pockets in his coat, Holmes patted his sides awhile before giving out a triumphant hiccup and extracted a small concealable camera the size of a pin, which of course projected pictures as big as you desired. Of course, you would have to purchase the deluxe super mega stand which powered the camera, and that certainly was rather bulky. A piece of equipment the size of your fist is pretty large for the 22nd century...

Holmes fumbled with the gadgetry for a few minutes, muttering something under his breath that sounded like "midget trolls nibble my toes in the nighttime" but what really was "a pox on the annoyingly complex machines of the future". Cold weather does funny things to people's hearing, I've discovered.

At last he was able to show his friends the pictures he had uploaded, of a certain female they all knew. Breaths abated all around the table as they stared at the photography frozen features of Melanie Dawson.

Deidre and the Irregulars were confused. "Isn't that the wench Grayson was talking to in 'is office the day you two left? She seemed pretty stuck-up to me and Tennyson..." The boy beeped in agreement and Wiggins blushed. "I thought she was pretty... in a stuck-up way," he added quickly when Lestrade scowled at him.

Sherlock grinned. "Your youthful memories suit you well. It is indeed Miss Dawson from the Yard, whose imaginary boyfriend worked at one of the ... erased offices of New Scotland Yard." A moment of silence passed as all remembered the bombings that completely wiped out offices around New London. Then he continued, "I've done some snooping around in various places and discovered her apartment as well as her false identity..."

Erika spoke up for the first time. "I don't think she would be foolish enough to stay here after stealing the crystals. It's criminal suicide."

Lestrade nodded. "I agree. How can you be sure she's still living there?"

Holmes put up his hands as if alarmed that the two had taken his skills for granted. "Simply that a blizzard has surrounded our city, making it impossible for anything to get out or in, also the reason I wasn't able to get reinforcements from New London," he frowned, then went on. "Besides, as I was watching her apartment, she coincidentally stepped out of the door and into her craft. Now, I trailed her without her knowledge and found that she likes to visit a certain new café, _Le Bat En Rouge_, and was met by a mysterious Englishman..."

Lestrade instantly sat up straight. "Moriarty! Of course! She's meeting him there to discuss their next move!" A nod from Holmes convinced her beyond a doubt. "Well, then what are we waiting for? Let's get them!" She stood with a burst of energy, but was gently tugged down again by Erika, who indicated that Holmes had more to say.

With a look of silent thanks for subduing the Inspector, Sherlock cleared his throat. "_Well_, I do have a plan as to how to lure her over and get her to confess..." He focused his gaze on Watson the droid, and the others followed his gaze. Watson, befuddled, was sure his old friend had some favor to ask of him. As always, he'd be glad to help.

Hopefully.

Lestrade, the Irregulars, and Erika sat at the living room table of their temporary lodgings awaiting Holmes' and Watson's returns from wherever they went to find Melanie Dawson. Without heating, all three were shivering in their wool socks, even though Erika had made some nice warm soup for them. Erika came back from the kitchen with more soup and noticed Lestrade's shaking. "You know, Beth, you could always borrow Holmes' blanket at night." She suggested absent-mindedly. Deidre snickered. Erika added quickly, "But not like that. I meant from his suitcase, of course." She looked sternly at the only female Irregular, who didn't flinch. "I didn't mean it like they're not sleeping in the same room, Deidre, so you needn't bother thinking of saying it."

The girl seemed unconvinced, but nodded slyly. Glaring at Deidre, Lestrade replied stiffly that she didn't want the eyes and brains of the group to freeze to death. Erika shrugged and sat down on a chair, sipping her soup quietly.

Everybody sat up when the front door banged open and Sherlock Holmes came in, falling onto the couch in a fit of laughter, slapping his forehead with the back of his hand as if making sure he didn't have a fever from the intense amusement. Soon, Watson's voice came from the steps below, slowly entering the room with pounding steps. "Oh come off it, Holmes! You haven't written a _monograph_ upon this subject, and so I beg of you, desist!"

When the detective continued laughing, Watson huffed indignantly and sat upon a nearby couch, looking quite hurt. Everybody else, still quite confused, waited patiently, except for Tennyson, who gave Holmes a punch in the shoulder. This caused the silly sleuth to calm down a bit, and gave him a chance to wipe the tears from his eyes. But his explanation, broken up often by bouts of merriment, was as incoherent as ever, causing them to look to Watson instead.

The compudroid, supposedly devoid of real emotion, flushed as he explained Holmes' behavior as if to a group of tourists in the chimpanzee section of a zoo.

A/N: R&R please. I won't wait for reviews to post the next chapter, of course, but they'll be appreciated.


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